


Before Never Fell

by quinndolynn09



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Character Death, Multi, Physical Disability, baby stealing, personified months
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21587779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinndolynn09/pseuds/quinndolynn09
Kudos: 2





	1. The Night That Began Everything

Many things come to mind when I try to recall that night. Some details are fuzzy, while others are crystal clear. Several of the details are everything in between.

One of the crystal clear things that immediately comes to mind is the way the cool air was causing my hair to wave this way and that. It was chilly enough to raise goosebumps on my skin, but not nearly frigid enough to sting (despite it being winter in Oklahoma). The windows of my girlfriend's 2000 Ford Super Duty let in a little too much December night air, but it didn't let much of the heat out in return. Between the bass in the cheesy love songs playing over the radio that were causing my seat to vibrate, the cold air from the outdoors surrounding the highway, the heaters blasting my feet with warmth briefly every couple of minutes, and the reflective signs on the road, it was almost too much. Looking back on it, I think it was just enough.

I looked to my left where she was sitting at the steering wheel. She had a smile that reflected pure bliss on. That day, she'd decided on deep purple lipstick. It looked odd paired with her oversized hoodie and pink, fluffy pajama pants. She was breathtakingly stunning nonetheless. Her hair was up in a messy bun. That's what she always called it, at least. I noticed her hands tapping along to the beat of the stereo on the steering wheel, and I smiled. I loved to see her so happy and lost in the moment.

Her emerald eyes darted in my direction, and her smile widened.

"Might I assisteth thee on this present day?" she questioned with a fake British accent while raising one eyebrow at me. She attempted to take on a more proper facial expression (and failed).

"Just admiring your beauty, m'lady," I answered, resisting the urge to laugh.

She snorted. "You're almost there. Thy, not your."

"I'm sorry I'm not William Shakespeare!"

"It's not an expectation I have of you," she jokingly reassured me.

I smiled briefly. And then I began to wonder what other expectations she could've possibly had of me. What if they were up on a high bar I couldn't reach? What if she dreamt of leaving? What if she says no to my marriage proposal?

No. Stop that.

"I promise I'll stay true to you as long as you stay true to me," she continued casually, almost as if she's read my thoughts but wanted to be subtle about it. She was freaky like that sometimes.

The corners of my mouth twitched into a smile. Her eyes looked back to the road and fixed themselves onto a sign:

Speed Limit  
45  
Night  
35

She silently cursed under her breath as she proceeded to attempt to slow the truck. The only problem was the truck didn't slow.

We slid across the ice, my eyes wide open in fear and her knuckles turning white from clenching the steering wheel so tight. The truck skidded to the right of the road, and with great force, we crashed headfirst into a tree.

The last sensations I remember are my clammy hands gripping the edges of the seat and Rosemary gasping as glass shattered all around us.


	2. Alec's Lane

My name is Frank Gibson. I'm 35 years old. I'm often described as hideous, crippled, and rude, and I've been nicknamed Cranky Frankie and Ancient Train Tracks. Do I like to describe myself with those adjectives and nicknames? Not really.

I stand at about five and a half feet tall. My stringy hair and huge eyes are both a milk chocolate brown. My cheeks are almost hollow, and my lips are quite thin. On top of that, my nose is a little too big for my face. As of one year ago, my wrecked teeth got fitted with wires to rearrange them to be pretty. I've got that going for me, but otherwise, it's not the best face ever.

I've theorized that the majority of the public loves to do this thing where they shun me as often as possible. This is for multiple reasons. Reasons being:  
1\. My face is not visually pleasing. It's rather creepy to look at, to be honest.  
2\. I'm technically handicapped in that I received a disability check until I was 24.  
Let me elaborate. When I was around eight, I got into a fatal car accident. I went flying through a window, and my right leg was crushed and mutilated beyond recognition beneath a mini van. My leg has since been weird and caused me to have a limp. My idea is that others don't want to associate themselves with the cripple, or they don't want to be guilted into having to help the cripple (for the record, I don't need any help whatsoever with anything. I'm fine on my own). I'm totally convinced it's the truth.

Except for Rosemary. She never saw me that way.

More elaboration. Rosemary Joseph (Rosie Josie for short) is my girlfriend of five years. She stands at about six feet tall. She's got these light blond waves that fall down her back and over her shoulders when she lets it down. She's on the broad shouldered side (unlike me). She's got these legs that are super long (Jumper Legs Joseph). Her teeth are perfectly straight and only slightly off white. Her eyes are hazel; mostly green with little flecks of brown around her irises. Her eyes drive me crazy (in a good way of course). She rarely wears makeup, except for her lips. She owns just about every shade of lipstick under the rainbow. This does in fact include colors like yellow, blue, green, purple, pink, white, black, red, brown, orange, and any other color you can possibly think of. Each day is a new lip color that is usually color coordinated with her outfit. Everyone, including myself, looks at her like she's a goddess. Society claims that looks don't matter (they shouldn't). That is a straight up lie, and Rosemary and I are proof.

I was planning on proposing to her until recent events. Recent events can be defined as the car crash we just experienced.

I don't want to marry her just because she's gorgeous. That has nothing to do with it. She is so loving, kind, upbeat, and positive. She knows how to turn a frown upside down. She can turn a rainy day into the best sunshine storm of your life. That's not even all of how astonishing she is.

After the crash, I found myself laying on a sidewalk. The sidewalk was cold against my back, but the view I was getting... it was simply dazzling.

No. I take that back. It was nowhere near simple.

Straight above, I could see a sky. The sky was a pinkish-purplish color that reminded me of the pink, purple, and blue multicolored cotton candy that always runs out fast at carnivals. Small stars that varied in color like Rosemary's lips were starting to appear. They seemed a lot closer to the ground than the stars I had known my whole life before this moment. The moon was full, and it resembled the moon we know as our normal. Except this moon didn't have a man's face. The face had more feminine features such as exaggerated eyelashes, cheeks that almost looked like they were blushing, and plump lips. As a whole, she looked motherly.

I struggled to sit up, but when I did finally get up, I surveyed my surroundings on the ground. First, I noticed several buildings. In a half mile radius of myself, it was all houses. Each house was identical. No, I'm not joking. Each house spotted the same pale blue paint that was beginning to chip off, white wooden porches, black front doors, and two windows on either side of the front door. The roofs were tiled with dark grey, square shaped tiles. Beyond the half mile radius of identical houses, I could see tall skyscrapers. They looked like the one you see in New York City. Except the ones in New York City didn't have smashed in windows. In the distance, I could see tall mountains that had snow covered tips. The mountains were an indigo color.

There was no sign of life anywhere within my vision.

I pulled myself up to my feet, and turned around. There was a sign of what used to be life within my vision now. Trees. Tons of them. Their bark was black and twisted and gnarled far from recognition. Their branches intertwined with each other, as if to say, don't let me go even though we're sickly, you're all I've got left. I almost hadn't realized they were trees at first. I thought I saw a pair of glowing eyes (whether they were actually there, I don't know, but I'm not going to say they weren't), and decided no way! This led me to turning back around to face the identical houses.

Now that I was looking at it from a somewhat higher, I could see a street sign titled "Alec's Lane." So that's where I was. Alec's Lane. That was better than no direction at all, I guess.

I decided to walk up Alec's Lane to see if I could notice any small differences in houses. My mind began to wander. Who was Alec? Why did he get a street named after him? Who named the street after him? 

Maybe I'd never know.

A gust of wind swept in with an eerie howl, leaving behind a chilled sensation on my neck. I pulled my zip-up hoodie tighter around myself. I figured I could either stand outside until the following happened: a) It got too cold and I had to go into a house or b) a human-seeming life form found its way here and I could ask for help. I ended up choosing option A because I saw no actual life forms anywhere, and small pain spasms were beginning to shoot up my right leg. From experience, I knew that the small pain spasms would turn into big ones before long.

With slumped shoulders and a feeling of dread, I poorly legged up the steps of the nearest white wooden porch. I raised a fist to the door and knocked twice out of habit. I uneasily accepted the invitation to come inside when the door creaked open. I stepped inside.

To my surprise, the floor beneath me swallowed me up.


	3. House 1101 on Alec's Lane

I opened my eyes to a street that I recognized from home. It was downtown Trydellia. The street was called Frontway (not sure why). On it, there were several small stores and restaurants. That basically means every store/restaurant in town. I was sitting in a black chair made out of cheap metal outside of a small restaurant. There was a table next to me that was made out of the same cheap black metal. A newspaper was in my hands, but I set it down, for I couldn't be bothered with reading it.

The small restaurant is called Tim's. Tim's is a family owned business. I believe that a married couple by the names of Kaitlynn and Pandora Lee are the current owners. Anyway, they're known for their breakfast delicacies and sandwiches. They hold a few parties every year for various holidays. They also hold a Thanksgiving dinner for those who don't have a family to spend the holiday with. What their regular parties entail— I don't know. To be frank, I'm not sure if I want to know. The building itself looks a little shabby. The outside is composed of grey bricks that are starting to crack. There's a white neon sign above the door that says "Tim's" in cursive letters. The sign flickers often. It needs replaced, but that's nobody but the Lees' call to make. There's four of the cheap, black metal tables out front with matching chairs. All of the outdoor tables and chairs look like they were spray painted black in a hurry. I wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

The buildings surrounding Tim's are far more lively. They have various murals depicting fictitious creatures like unicorns, ligers (lion tigers), dragons, and such painted on the sides. Their signs are colorful and blinking unlike Tim's plain, white flickering sign.

When I looked across the street, I couldn't help but stare. There she was. Rosemary Joseph. Her hair was in a loose braid down her back. I couldn't see her face, but I recognized her signature black lace flats with the bow toes.

On her left, there was a young teen who looked to be between 14 and 16. The teen had electric blue waves that stopped about an inch above the shoulders. I couldn't tell whether they were a boy or a girl. They looked pretty androgynous to me. They wore a baggy My Chemical Romance shirt paired with white basketball shorts. Their socks were long, cut just under the knee. The socks had small, lavender elephants sitting on clouds on them. I assumed that this was Rosemary's kiddo. Or maybe they were our kiddo...

And then I saw him.

On Rosemary's right, there was a man. Picture a tall, handsome, buff guy. The surfer guy that everybody swoons over. The one with the blonde hair and electric blue eyes that nearly matched the teenager's hair. Picture this guy holding Rosemary's hand. And then imagine my confusion.

Maybe I'd entered some alternate universe where Rosemary had realized that she was making a mistake by wasting her life with me. Maybe she'd found somebody new and decided to have his babies. Or maybe Mr. Perfect had convinced her to leave me. But what if—? No. That couldn't have been. I don't like the fact that I could've left her. I probably could've done it just as easily as she said she could leave me.

Maybe.

Across the street, the teenager noticed me. They squinted you see me better. Then, their face lit up with recognition. They smiled. A small grin displayed itself on my face. Never had I ever seen somebody except Rosemary so happy to see me.

The teenager tugged in Rosemary's sleeve as if they were a small child.

"Mom, look," they said, nodding in my direction. Their voice wasn't much indication either.

Rosemary's hazel eyes followed the teenager's nod, and her expression fell, a smile no longer the most prominent feature of her face. I couldn't tell how she felt. Was she sad? Angry? I had no clue. Whatever the look she gave me meant, it made my heart sink.

"Can I go over to him, Mom?" they asked.

"Of course, Corey," Mr. Perfect chimed in.

Corey's eyebrows scrunched into a glare directed towards Mr. Perfect. Rosemary sighed.

"I told you that you don't need to make decisions for me," Rosemary told Mr. Perfect, annoyance jumping into her tone. The Rosemary I knew was not easily frustrated.

"And you don't answer questions that I ask my mom," added a fuming Corey.

Mr. Perfect put his hands up in protest. "Just relax, guys. I didn't mean—"

"I've heard this excuse a million times!" Rosemary snapped.

"Have fun. I'm staying with Dad tonight," Corey interjected. They began walking in my direction.

So I was this kid's dad. That simultaneously excited and scared me.

"But stay—" Rosemary tried to protest. Her expression softened, her eyebrows relaxing somewhat and her eyes searching Corey for some sort of an answer to an unasked question.

Corey laughed before she could finish her sentence. "No, thank you. I don't care for your man candy, especially when he's being a jerk. I've got my wallet, as well as everything I'll need at Dad's."

Without staying as Rosemary had pleaded them to, Corey crosses the street to meet me. Up close, I realized they were taller than me by at least three inches.

"Sorry about that," they said, their eyes searching the ground before meeting mine for a brief second.

"It's not your fault," I automatically answered, holding out an arm to pull them into a hug. They accepted and didn't attempt to push away at all.

"How long have you been here for?" Corey questioned, gesturing to my table.

"Not too long. Are you hungry?" I responded. Pretending like I'd known the kid for 10+ years sure was difficult.

They replied, but I didn't catch what they said. My attention directed itself back over to Rosemary and "Man Candy" (as Corey called him). They were arguing. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but I could tell Rosemary was pissed off. Corey followed my gaze and let out a sigh.  
————  
I resurfaced standing on the doorstep of the house I'd just attempted to enter.

Was that even a house? What had I just experienced? Was it some sort of future sight? Did it mean Rosemary would leave me soon? Or had she already left? Were all of the houses like that? Would they all show me this same thing, or did they show different things?

I had too many questions and not enough answers. One of those was answerable, though. I could try to figure out what the deal with the houses was.

As I thought about it, I noticed something. This house on Alec's Lane was no longer identical to the rest. The lights were on in this particular house. No other house had any sort of a light. I tried the doorknob, and the door creaked open just like before. I stepped inside without getting flung into some alternate reality (A.K.A. whatever just happened with Rosie, Mr. Perfect, and Corey). In front of me was a narrow hallway with two doors on each side. I opened the left door closest to me to reveal a room.

The room had cream colored walls. There was a mattress resting on a wooden bed frame. The mattress has pale green sheets and matching blankets draped over it. White carpet covered the floor space.

I needed answers, but I needed rest first. I kicked my shoes off, climbed into the bed, and pulled a blanket over myself. With that, I decided to call it a night. I was so emotionally strung out that I was out in minutes.


	4. House 1104 on Alec's Lane

When I woke up the next morning, I was comforted by cool sheets and a dim room that wasn't harsh on the eyes, nor was it too dark to see. I had a moment of temporary bliss that faded as soon as I recalled the previous day. The crash. Other Rosemary. Mr. Perfect. Corey.

I let out a groan as my left foot hit the floor, followed by my right foot. I smoothed out my clothes to the best of my ability and decided to go explore more of Alec's Lane, if not beyond it. It seemed as if, at least with the first house, going inside "unlocked it" in a sense. All of the houses on Alec's Lane were replicas of each other, so I figured I might as well try to get to the bottom of what I can.

I poorly legged my way outside, where the overcast sky greeted me with small snowflakes. The consistent weather pattern seemed reliable for now. To make sure I hadn't imagined the previous day, I looked up and down each side of Alec's Lane for any sort of difference in any of the houses. Nada. Maybe, I thought, going through the houses on this street could reveal something. This thought led me to walk across the street and into one of the pale blue houses. I opened the door and stepped inside.  
————  
This time, I "woke up" on a red sofa in a space tight room. A lime green table with matching chairs on either side rested maybe ten feet in front of me. There was a doorway to the left of the table, where I could see part of a coffee pot and about half of a dishwasher. I could've been mistaken, but I guessed it was a kitchenette of sorts. To the right of the lime table, there was a hallway that stretched on for maybe twenty feet. There were doors at the end of the hallway that faced each other. Various framed photographs were scattered across the hallway. In my hands, there was a book. I tilted it to see the cover.

The cover was a full body shot of a woman from the back. A red cloak fell down her shoulders and covered most of her besides her head and her boots. Her fingertips were clutching the sides of her cloak. It didn't seem like it was in a scared way. Electric blue curls fell down her back in perfect ringlets. They were about as long as her hips. The thing I found perplexing was the title and author: The Untold Tale of Lanadel Moondaze by Rosemary Joseph-Gibson.

What? Just what? Who was Lanadel? Why'd Rosemary write about her? Why does it say "Joseph-Gibson"? Did she marry me? Oh my goodness, I thought, maybe she said yes. But then why are we apart now?

No time for questions. My cellphone about a foot away from me started vibrating.

The number wasn't one I recognized. I debated answering it. I decided to right after the thought of Rosemary being in some kind of trouble crossed my mind. I flipped it open and put it to my ear.

"Good evening. May I speak to Frank Gibson?" a woman's voice said, masking any sort of emotion I could've derived from her words to better understand the situation.

"This is he," I responded uneasily.

"I'm Officer Mandy Andrews from the Trydellia Police Department. Tonight, we took in an individual by the name of Corey Joseph-Gibson on drug possession and assault charges," she informed me.

Goddammit, Corey. Drug possession?

"Corey informed us that you were one of the parents we could contact about the issue Officer Andrews continued. "Can you make it or should we contact Corey's mother?"

"I'll be there with her soon," I heard myself say.

"Thank you, Mr. Gibson," Officer Andrews said before hanging up.

I keyed in what I knew to be Rosemary's number while hoping that it hadn't changed in this weird alternate timeline. I put the phone up to my ear. It rang about five times before she answered.

"Yes, Frank?" she answered, sounding out of breath, carefree, and... happy.

Ugh.

"I just got a call from TPD. They've got Corey for drug possession and assault charges," I briefly explained.

She paused.

"What?" she uttered in disbelief after a couple of seconds.

"They want us at the station. I'm assuming they'll further elaborate there," I told her.

She stayed quiet.

"Can you come pick me up?" I added. It's dark out, so I didn't really want to walk. Public transportation is usually closed at that time, too.

"Sure," she answered, sounding cold but defeated. Vaguely how Corey had spoken to her in the last house. "Be there in ten minutes."

She hung up before I could say another word.

As I reached for my shoes that were lying on the floor near me and began to put them on, thoughts continued to race through my head quicker than before. The thoughts that occupied the majority of my attention were the ones about Rosemary. I wondered where she was. There was no doubt she was probably with Mr. Perfect. She sounded so happy and lost in eternal bliss before I'd told her Corey got arrested.

Why did Corey have drugs? They most certainly didn't come off as someone who did drugs. Then I remembered how I didn't interact with a sober Rosemary until we'd known each other for about three months. During that time, I had no clue she was an addict. That, however, is another story for another time.

I got up and pain shot through my right leg. A pained yelp came out of my mouth as I winced. On what I assumed to be the handle of the front door, a wooden cane was hanging. I let out a deep sigh before limping over to the door, practically dragging my leg because of how much pain it put me in. I grabbed the cane with my right hand as soon as it was within reach and balanced myself. I hobbled on out of the building. Luckily, my apartment was on the first floor, so I went out the door and waited for Rosemary.

Snow covered the entire parking lot like a blanket. Tire tracks could be seen where tenants had come and gone from their homes that day. I thought I could make out a building across from this one, but my vision went fuzzy when I tried to see that far. The sky, just like Alec's Lane, was overcast. These clouds, however, were dark grey. A storm was brewing.

I finally found a word to describe the combination of dread, stress, and exhaustion I was feeling.

Old.

Rosemary pulled up in a peculiar vehicle that had the Honda logo on the front. I hobbled my way down the front steps and opened the passenger door for myself before climbing in. Rosemary didn't even bar an eye at me, but she waited until I had my seat belt on before she started driving.

She was dressed in pajamas. For her, this consisted of an old t-shirt from the college she went to and fluffy pajama pants. Her hair had been twisted into something that strongly resembles a disheveled knot. She looked older in the same way I felt older. In her disheveled knot, I could see a few grey hairs. There were small but noticeable wrinkles by the corners of her eyes. Smile lines, my mother called them.

"What all did the police tell you?" she questioned with a sigh. A tired sigh. Had Corey pulled stunts like this before?

"Just that Corey's in their custody for drug possession and assault. They didn't expand on why," I responded.

Pause. 

"What could've made them do it?" she wondered aloud, probably to herself. "They're a great kid. They haven't done anything like this before."

New information:  
1) Corey used they/them pronouns. I'd never heard of anybody doing this before, but I thought it was unique. I could and would adjust, and I didn't have to wonder what their pronouns were.  
2) Corey hadn't ever tried anything like this before. That means there might be some sort of explanation that doesn't make them 100% guilty.

I decided to verbally express that.

"Maybe they're not totally guilty," I said. "Maybe there was some kind of a misunderstanding."

"Maybe," Rosemary answered, her mind beginning to wander. I could tell by the far away look in her eyes. Some things never change.

We pulled up to the police station. After unbuckling my seat belt, I opened my door and carefully lowered myself to the ground, cane in hand. I looked over at Rosemary. Her forehead rested against the top of the steering wheel, eyes closed. I stood there for a few seconds, unsure of what to say or do.

"Rosie Josie."

She looked up wearily. "Don't call me that, Frank."

"Sorry," I murmured, closing the car door.

I'd forgotten. The way she'd said said those five words stung. It took me that moment to realize that as long as I was on Alec's Lane, Rosemary may as well have been be a stranger to me. We were only connected by this kid who I hardly knew.

She got out, and I made it to the entrance about half a second before she did. I opened the door for her. She breezed by without a word or a second glance. I followed.

I've never made a trip to TPD, and from what I'd heard, it was a fairly nice place. On Alec's Lane, it was mediocre at best. There were bright fluorescent lights that hurt to look at. The lights bounced off of the beige tiles, making the pain my eyes about ten times more prominent. In front of us, a man in uniform who looked to be in his fifties or sixties was behind a desk, reading a book. The Untold Tale of Lanadel Moondaze by Rosemary Joseph-Gibson. He looked up when we entered.

"Good evening," he said with a calmness, his voice actually not sounding like he smoked three packs a day. "How can I help you two tonight?"

"We got a call from an officer by the name of..." Rosemary looked at me with an expression that subtly but effectively said help (arched eyebrows, bottom lip being chewed on in nervousness).

"Officer Mandy Andrews," I supplied, "about our child Corey Joseph-Gibson."

The man nodded. "Andrews is in the holding hall. Have either of you been before?"

"No," I said.

"Yes," Rosie answered automatically. When did she do that?

"You'll know your way then," the man answered.

Rosemary started walking. I squinted at the name tag on his uniform.

"Thank you, Detective Smithers," I said before rushing after Rosie Josie as quickly as possible. I didn't see nor hear any response from the detective.

After a few twists and turns; we arrived in a room composed of mainly stone bricks. A total of four cells were lined up against the walls; two cells on the right and two on the left. The left cells were occupied. The one closest to the entryway had a typical looking teenage jock. The one furthest from us was none other than Corey Joseph-Gibson.

Corey's electric blue locks looked about the same as they did last time, except they were a lot more messy. Not purposefully messy. Messy as if they'd been attacked. They had a hand protectively draped over the left side of their rib cage, as if either the hand or the ribs were injured. Their brilliant green eyed stared out of the bars and into the empty cell across from theirs. They looked defeated. Definitely not high, but most certainly defeated.

In front of Rosemary and me, a woman dressed in an officer's uniform with choppy brown hair was seated at a cheap metal desk. Her name tag indicated that she was, in fact, Officer Mandy Andrews.

"You're Mr. and Mrs. Gibson?" Officer Andrews asked, the question sounding more like a statement.

"Mr. Gibson and Mrs. Joseph-Denson, actually," Rosie Josie said.

My heart sank. She did in fact, marry Mr. Perfect.

"My apologies," Officer Andrews said, yet again sounding insincere. Her whole vibe seemed pretty terse and monotone.

The officer picked a key ring up from her desk and stood, the keys going jingle jangle! as she went over to Corey's cell. She shoved the key into the lock and twisted. After a click, she pulled the bar door open and held a hand out to Corey. They accepted it and stood up, wincing. They said something under their breath (either cursing or obliging Officer Andrews) and began walking towards Rosie and me. They managed to muster a small smile. Officer Andrews followed them.

Rosemary crossed her arms over her chest, examining Corey. Whatever was left of Corey's spirit fell. Their gaze found the floor and fixated on it as they stopped a few feet in front of us. Officer Andrews stopped beside them and made heavy eye contact with Rosie and me.

"Since your child is still a minor and this is their first run-in with the law, we'll inform you of what happened and send you on your way." She paused, then shook her head. "Who the hell am I kidding? This kid shouldn't get charged with anything. They didn't do jack."

Rosie Josie's brow furrowed in confusion. Corey's eyes flitted up slightly to glance at us. Officer Andrews looked over at Corey, and their eyes met.

"Corey, you want to tell them?" she asked in a soft tone, as if she were speaking to a child that had scraped their knee.

Corey took a deep breath and looked up to meet her eyes. "I think I can explain."

Officer Andrews nodded and focused her gaze on us, most likely to see how we would react. I ran my thumb over a spot of my cane out of anxiousness. Rosemary began running her right thumbnail along the side of her index finger. A pause followed.

"Well?" she said, growing more and more anxious by the minute.

"Well," Corey started, "it's a long story. You remember how my friend Jeanie invited me to that party?"

I obviously didn't remember, but I nodded like I did.

"Jeanie picked me up from Mom's, and I drove us to a nearby neighborhood. The thing was, there were no signed of a party at the address we'd been given," they continued. "We got out of her car and started looking around.

"Out of nowhere, some jock named Stryder—" Corey glared at the teen in the other cell, and the teen flipped him off in return—"reached out from under the porch and grabbed my ankles. He pulled me down to the ground and shimmied out from under the porch to stick his elbow in my back. I was pinned to the ground. This happened quick, you know, so Jeanie screamed and jumped back. Something fell out of a hole in her purse. I think I was the only one who noticed at first."

Drugs. Drugs had fallen out of Jeanie's purse. I was willing to bet that was it.

"Anyway," they went on, "Jeanie screamed, a bunch of dudes jumped out from behind the house. I'd say there were about four or five. One of them was Jeanie's boyfriend Daniel. He went over to Jeanie and stood next to her. The rest of the dudes decided it's be a great idea to start kicking the shit out of me while calling me names like 'fag' and 'tranny.'"

While saying this, Corey remained perfectly calm. I couldn't comprehend how. Hot tears started to well up in my eyes. I can't imagine what Rosie's face must've looked like. Across from me, Officer Andrews had her gaze fixed on the floor, seeming to regret what she couldn't stop.

"Jeanie started crying and yelling at them to stop. Daniel held her back and told her to be quiet," Corey recounted. "I tried getting up, but with feet constantly in my ribs, it didn't happen. At some point, Stryder had joined the kickers. Eventually, an elderly woman cane out of her house and began yelling at the boys, saying she'd already called the cops. They took off, all except for Daniel. He was apparently trying to convince Jeanie that I was some kind of a fraud. I got up and picked up the object that had fallen out of Jeanie's purse."

Corey pauses, creating dramatic effect. However, when they began speaking, their voice started breaking. "It was cocaine. Daniel realized about the same moment I did, and he started blowing up on her. I got angry and punched him really hard in the jaw, so he would shut up. The cops pulled up, and that's that."

We were all silent. The silence was more stunned that uncomfortable. I averted my eyes to the floor. I heard a sniffle, and then a sob. I saw Rosemary pull Corey into her arms and hug them. The tears and sobs were coming from her.

"You guys are free to go when you please," Officer Andrews quietly said. She patted Corey's shoulder and turned to leave the room.

"Wait," Rosemary said. The officer turned back around. I quizzically tilted my head at my apparent ex-wife.

"Can we press charges?" she asked.

"Mom—" Corey tried to say.

"With enough evidence," Officer Andrews stated, "yes."

"Mom," Corey began again, "I don't want to press charges."

"This is the third time something like this has happened." Her voice sounded shaky as tears sprung back into her eyes.

"And I haven't fought back until now!" they argued. "I have to defend myself so that I won't be their play toy anymore! If I stick up for myself, they'll know not to mess with me!"

"Are you listening to yourself right now?!" she exclaimed.

I pinched my nose and covered my eyes with my hand.

"Yes, Mom!" Corey retorted. "I am listening to myself! You know the amount of absolute bullshit I put up with every day, and I'm sick and tired of letting people fuck with me!"

"While you're under my roof, you will not be using that kind of language," Rosemary said, an eerie calm creeping into her tone. "Go out to the car."

"But—"

"Out to the car!" She almost shouted it that time.

Corey listened this time without putting up a fight. Officer Andrews had silently walked away at some point during their argument. Corey trudged down the twisting maze of hallways. Rosemary followed, taking long, brisk strides ahead of us. I was side by side with Corey, limping at an average speed. By the time we made it outside, Rosemary had already started her car. I got in the passenger's side and Corey got in the back. As soon as she heard two seat belt clicks, she began driving. The drive was silent.

"Am I still going to Dad's since it's Friday?" Corey queried after a couple minutes, breaking the silence.

"Assuming you don't need anything from my place," she responded, not looking at them.

"I don't," they confirmed.

Silence again.

After a few more minutes of silence, we pulled up in front of the apartments I had left earlier. Corey murmured something along the lines of "love you, Mom" before getting out and going inside. Her eyes follows them into the building. I thanked her and limped after Corey. Before going inside, I looked back towards Rosemary's car. She was crying. I mean really crying, what appeared to be full blown sobs, streaming tears, all the works. I wanted to comfort her, but at the same time, she really didn't seem to like me much at all. I debated it back and forth in my head for a few seconds.

She made the decision for me by driving away.


	5. 1110 Alec's Lane and the Whistler

Back on the doorstep, just like 1101 Alec's Lane. I was almost completely sure that each of the houses shared similarity in process.

But wow. Corey. Poor Corey. I couldn't believe people in that time, whenever it was, discrimination against the LGBTQ+ was still happening. I wished so badly to change it. Whether you're gay, lesbian, transgender, or anything else, you deserve a life just as good as everyone else's. Maybe the houses were a window into the future. Maybe Rosemary would leave me for Mr. Perfect. I did, however, know that if I did become Corey's father, I would protect them with my life and do my very best to give them everything they needed.

I sat down on the front steps for a moment as I composed my thoughts.

What was someone with pronouns like Corey's called? I didn't have a clue. I told myself I'd look into it when all of this was over.

If all of this was ever over. I could've been stuck there forever for all I knew. Maybe I would've just stayed there forever, peeking through glimpses of what would've been my miserable future. My miserable future which didn't have Rosemary Joseph in it. Where was Rosemary? I missed her greatly. I wanted to know if she was okay. The possibilities rushed into my mind like a Broadway cast rushing into their places for the opening number. Perhaps Rosie Josie had died on impact, and she so happened to be enough of an angel to have made it into some kind of a heaven while I stayed stuck between what felt like a matter of life or death. I couldn't figure out how to make it or break my situation. Being stuck is the worst kind of frustration. I looked upon the worst missed opportunities. The worst ways I screwed up. I had to find a way to make things right. Somehow. I stood up, and with new purpose, walked down the block to the final house, 1110. I opened the door and let myself in. Maybe a house could've made up some sort of an answer.

Little did I know, 1110 Alec's Lane wouldn't make anything. It would only break everything.

————

The area surrounding me appeared to be a hallway. You know the crappy, rough carpet most children have gotten rug rash from at one point or another? That crappy, rough carpet covered the floor beneath my feet in a dark shade of grey. In front of me, dark oak-seeming doors protected a room from entry. The wooden cane from 1104 was back in my right hand. Somebody's right arm hooked itself through my left arm. I turned to my left, and saw none other than Corey.

Dressed in a masculine fashion, Corey's eyes were focused on the ground. Their blue locks fell to their shoulders in a neat way. They wore a white dress shirt that had a black blazer over it with black slacks to match. Their shoes matched. A scent of coconut trailed off of them from a most likely recent shower. Looking up to Corey's face, I could tell they'd been upset. Their eyes, nose, and cheeks were bright red as if they'd been crying. They looked over their shoulder to me and searched my face for some kind of comfort, for some kind of guidance.

"I miss her, Dad." Their voice wavered, and they pressed their lips together to keep a sob from breaking through. I caught site of a framed schedule on the wall. I understood.

We were at Rosemary Joseph's funeral. A lump formed in my throat the very moment I realized.

"I miss her too," I murmured in a rough tone. We continued walking forward.

"I wish I could've stopped her from..." Their voice trailed off. They tried to keep back tears.

Suicide. Something in my gut told me that had been what happened. I don't know how or what exactly was telling me. Only the fact of it nearly happened before.

Not Rosemary. I couldn't bear the thought once it sunk in. I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe, I thought, if I closed them for long enough, I'll disappear. For a second, I even felt like I was fading. I stopped myself. I couldn't leave Corey behind. Not like this. They were hurting. They needed me. 

I re-opened my eyes and blinked back tears. Corey pushed one of the doors open, and we entered a room filled with a few rows of pews. Most of them were filled. I didn't recognize the majority of the people that were scattered between the rows. They were probably her previous students. Down the center aisle, I saw what seemed like a blurry Mr. Perfect. There were two young girls by his side. A woman stood in front of them as they engaged in conversation. The woman's appearance hinted at familiarity, but I couldn't quite place where I knew her from.

Corey glanced at a watch on their right wrist. "We've still got ten minutes until the service starts. I'm going to go check on the twins."

I nodded. They paused, scanning the room, and then refocusing on me.

"You'll be okay sitting with us—" they gestured to Mr. Perfect and the twins—"right?"

I nodded again. I had to be there for my kiddo. I had to be.

They pulled me into a hug and squeezed as you do when your mother dies. I squeezed them back as you do when you feel like you've lost everything except a small piece of hope. They let go and began walking towards Mr. Perfect and the twin girls. When Corey made it over, the woman from before patted Mr. Perfect on the shoulder and began taking short but audibly. strides towards me. As she came closer, I could hear her heels hitting the floor with each step in her sashay.

Cordelia Sylenski. Why?

Shortly after birth, a young woman who has ever been known by her daughter as Miss Joseph, dropped her baby off at an orphanage. Within about two months, Miss Joseph's daughter Rosemary was adopted by a man by the name of Corbyn Sylenski. Mr. Sylesnki was recently windowed after his wife passed away. Mrs. Sylenski left behind not only her husband, but a son and three daughters. The son was named Michael, and the daughters were named Cordelia, Emma May, and Daisy.

The Sylenski children had mixed feelings about Rosemary as a collective whole. Michael was upset over his mother's passing, but understood why Mr. Sylenski thought to introduce a new member to the family to change the darkness which had settled into the house. Michael didn't think an entire baby was reasonable, but he learned to love Rosemary. Daisy, the youngest daughter, shared an opinion with Michael. She additionally felt ecstatic because there was a new youngest sibling, and Daisy wouldn't be the baby of the family anymore.

This left two unhappy daughters, Cordelia and Emma May. They were cross with the idea of their father just bringing in a new baby after their mother had departed. They felt like their father was trying to ignore their mother's passing, and their best solution to this problem was to ignore Rosemary. Rosemary grew up with two sisters she absolutely adored, and in turn, they pretended as if she didn't exist, turning the cold shoulder to her at all times and avoiding her at every cost.

From the beginning, Cordelia was a grumpy individual. Things only worsened when Rosemary was eight years old. At twenty years old, Emma May had been out drinking and doing drugs one night in another town. She was nowhere near close to sober enough to take herself home, so she got a ride with a couple of friends. What Emma May didn't know was the driver of the vehicle she got into with happened to be even more drunk and high than she was. The driver passed out at the wheel. Emma May panicked and tried to steer the car on the bridge correctly. The car ended up going off of the bridge, and one person survived. It was not Emma May. Cordelia has been an even colder and bitter person since then, according to Rosemary.

I felt terrible for Cordelia, but I thought if she'd been more open minded, things wouldn't have been so bad on her end. I didn't think I was entitled to say anything. What did I know? I lost a parent when I was young like the Sylenskis, however my sister and I hardly knew each other, so I didn't have much to say.

"Frank," Cordelia said in a tone which implied she had just yanked my head out of the clouds. I met her gaze and was met with cold, grey eyes. I stayed quiet. Her next words surprised me.

"Did she leave you?" Her tone was less icy than before.

I had no answer, so I fired my own question back at her. "When did you last speak to her?"

"Years and years ago," she admitted, the look in her eyes becoming far away. "I regret the things I didn't say."

A memory crossed my mind, washing over me like it were yesterday...

Rosemary and I sit down crosslegged in our living room. Well, I can't cross my legs without experiencing immense pain, but I cross one of them to the best of my ability just so she won't feel strange. We had decided to be open with each other about the little personal things, and it was my turn to ask her a question.

"Hm..." I say, trying to think. "Tell me about... your most clear childhood memory."

She laughs. "Brace yourself. It's not pretty."

"You remember it that well?" I queried in shock.

"It's something that messed with me for awhile," she explains. "When I was eight, I had a sister named Emma May. She went off of a bridge in a fatal car accident, and she didn't survive. She was also my big sister Cordelia's best friend. When Cordelia heard, she was very upset. She locked herself in her room for days on end. One day, I came home from school, and I heard her sobbing in her room. I knocked on her door and opened it. She looked at me with her face all red from crying, and out of nowhere, she started screaming about how it was my fault Emma May was dead, and how she was missing her life long friend because of me. She started throwing things at me. She threw anything she could reach. I remember a vase hit the wall a few inches from my head. I quickly closed the door and ran off to my room. Cordelia and I have never spoken about it on the few occasions that we have talked to each other."

I'm quiet. How could a person do such a thing? I know grief is difficult. I was an extremely difficult child after my father passed away, and my leg recovered as best as it could. Still, I apologized to my sister and my mother for all the times I was awful to them. I did my best to make it up to them. Cordelia, however, never did anything to try to mend the bonds she'd broken.

I glance to Rosemary and see she's crying. I half-crawl over to her side and hold my arms out. She lets me hug her, and for just a moment, I feel we're slowly healing each other's wounds. Slowly but surely. We will make it out okay.  
...

"Why didn't you say those things, then?" I questioned tauntingly. "Were those things not nice? Do you regret not being able to insult your own sister enough?"

I still don't know what came over me. Cordelia's eyebrows raised in shock, as if she'd been caught taking cookies from the cookie jar. She tried to cover it up by twisting her face into a scowl.

"You act as if I'm bad," she retorted, "when you didn't have it in you to try to keep her with you."

I'd never force her to stay. She has her own free will. If she wanted to leave, then so be it. She deserves what she wants.

"You were absolutely awful to her! You weren't much help to her whatsoever!" I bursted, growing louder. "She looked up to you, you know that? And all you ever did was shut her down!"

I missed Rosemary. It stung in my eyes. It prodded through my chest. It made my voice seize up. I wanted to go home very badly. I wished to be somewhere familiar, somewhere that wasn't in front of Cordelia Sylenski. The longing felt so real, I found myself able to believe I would be somewhere familiar sometime soon.

————

Growing up, my mother was an optimist. She would always write down happy quotes about how "life is a hand of cards; play the hand you get and make the best of a bad deal" or whatever. She had the constant need to remind me about how I had to believe in myself and how self believe meant I was already halfway through recovery. I resented this with every fiber of my being. I didn't like her fussing over me, and I started to dislike the idea of beliefs. However, while desperately believing I could escape 1110 Alec's Lane/Rosemary's funeral, I managed to bend it into a reality. Before even finishing whatever I was meant to do in the house, I had managed to exit.

Hot tears immediately began streaming down my cheeks. Sobs took place of the seize in my throat and filled the eerie silence with sounds of my misery. I slid down against the door and simply wept. Words cannot describe the feeling of loss. Even now, I fail to come up with an adequate way to describe it. I additionally felt pathetic. I had absolutely no clue as to where Rosemary may have been, and all I had the heart to do was cry about it. What if Rosemary had really been dead? Would I do anything about it? I knew I obviously wouldn't do well without her. She'd been the light in my dark for five years. It hurt to breathe. I desperately needed some kind of a sign she would be alright if she wasn't already.

The closest thing I received was the sound of cheery whistling echoing throughout the streets. I held my breath as I wiped my face off with my sleeve. The precision and continuation of the whistle was astounding and eerie at the same time. I exhaled quietly after a few seconds and continued regularly breathing. I made sure to stay quiet. The whistler drew closer and closer to me. I couldn't hear any footsteps, but I could tell because of how loud the whistler was getting. The whistling suddenly stopped. Goosebumps covered my arms.

"Yoo-hoo!" a silky, lighthearted voice called out. "Is anybody here?"

I stayed quiet, knees pulled up to my chest. I didn't dare say a word. This person could be a serial killer.

"I can sense you, you know," the whistler said, inflicting a chill up and down my spine. "Please come out."

Two things scared me about the whistler.  
1\. It felt as if the whistler's voice were pulling me to her. I wanted so badly to greet the whistler. At the exact same time, it was a horrible idea. The thought of greeting the whistler scared me within itself.  
2\. The whistler sounded quite close. Too close.

It turned out the whistler not only sounded close, but she was also presently close. A figure appeared on the cracked asphalt road between houses 1101 and 1102. The only detail I could make out was a crimson colored cloak covering the whistler. The whistler kept walking towards house 1110 until she reached the front steps where I could get a better look at her.

The cloak draped over her shoulders and wrapped around her body looked to be fluffy-seeming up close. The hood pulled over her head hid most of her hair, yet a few familiar electric blue strands still stuck out from various angles.

Her eyes stuck out to me the most. They were dark blue, mimicking the color of the deep depths of the ocean. I swore I could see gold flecks in her irises like stars. After watching in mesmerization, I concluded the gold flecks seemed more like bubbles. Other than the unusually blue shade of her eyes and the bubbles, the whistler seemed ordinary. An off-white cream color made up her complexion. Dotted all across her cheeks and small, pointy nose were itty bitty freckles. Her lips were a natural shade of pink, one I know Rosemary would've considered to be tame. They weren't too big nor too thin, although her lower lip didn't have the same proportions as her upper lip. This left her with an almost permanent pouty lip.

The whistler's eyes examined me with absolute fascination. I couldn't help but wonder if I had just visually searched her with the same look. Her eyes kept inspecting me repetitively. I began to worry.

Finally, she said, "How did you get your hair to be that color?"

I blinked in surprise. My hair was normal. Why was she asking about it?

"It's always been this color," I answered cautiously.

I watched her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"Your aura doesn't seem like it would belong to somebody with such dark eyes," she stayed. "Are you one of the ex Solcanvark?"

I felt so deeply confused by the strange-eyes whistler. Could she aura read? Why was she talking about my eyes? My eyes were normal. They didn't seem out of the ordinary. They didn't have bubbles in the irises, anyway. And what the fresh fiddlesticks was a Solcanvark?

I slowly shook my head no. The whistler appeared overcome with just as much confusion as I was feeling.

"What type of creature are you?" she wondered.

If we're asking that question, I'd like to know what in the universe she was supposed to be if she wasn't human.

"Human," I responded apprehensively. Her eyes widened.

"They're real?" she whispered, mortified.

What. The. Actual. Hell. 

In what world were humans not real? They could only be myth if...

Wait. Wherever I was didn't have humans. What an extraordinarily bizarre thought. I began laughing, nearly cackling, at how absurd the idea sounded. The whistler's eyes filled with concern. I took a deep breath to collect myself before focusing in her direction.

"I believe we got off on the wrong foot. Would you like to have a seat?" I offered, gesturing to a cheap, metal chair from Tim's (that somehow appeared) couple feet from where I sat on the doormat.

The whistler gingerly and silently treaded up the steps and carefully sat down in the chair. Her cloak fell back slightly to reveal what gave the impression of a baby bump. I didn't address it. I knew it rightfully wasn't my business unless she told me so. Her gaze never left me.

"What's your name?" I watched her intently, filled with a new energy and restlessness.

"Lanadel Moondaze."


	6. To Be Acquainted with the Adventurous

Lanadel? Lanadel, as in, Lanadel Moondaze? The woman my girlfriend had apparently written a book about? A book I already knew I wasn't going to mention. It seemed all too peculiar, all too dream-like.

"What's your name?" Lanadel asked. Ablaze with curiosity, her oceanic eyes focused on my face.

"Frank," I answered mindlessly.

"And what brings you to Never, Frank?" she queried, quickly adding, "I can tell you're not from anywhere in this division of Infinite Possibility."

I stared blankly at Lanadel. "Huh?"

Infinite possibility is a completely real thing, yes, but it is not something that is seen. It cannot have "divisions." How would one even be from infinite possibility? That isn't... Well, it isn't possible. This most certainly did not make sense.

"Let me try again," she decided. "Where are you from?"

"Trydellia, Oklahoma," I stated.

"Is that in Always?"

"No." I grew even more confused with her usage of time as places. "It's in the United States."

She suddenly laughed. "How silly of me! I apologize for not remembering. You're a human. You must be from Sometimes."

No, I can't be from Sometimes. I don't know what Sometimes is. Or Always. Or Never. I know what those words mean, but I hadn't the faintest clue of what Lanadel was talking about.

I decided a simple head shake was the best course of action. My simple head shake made it her turn to feel confused and hopeless. 

"Where in Infinite Possibility, then?" she helplessly questioned.

"I'm not from Infinite Possibility," I admitted.

Lanadel gave me an incredulous stare. Perhaps she hadn't realized how infinite the possibilities were. I looked to the ground out of habit. Silence filled the air like a canister of helium filling a balloon. A needle stabbed the balloon after a few moments.

"How?"

And so I told her the truth. I briefly explained who Rosemary was. I explained the accident. Lanadel exhibited characteristics of a good listener. She nodded her head at things she understood and curiously tilted her head at things she didn't quite get. She waited until I finished speaking to ask, though. I found myself thinking about how Rosemary would've liked her a lot, and I mentally kicked myself for over-thinking about her. There didn't end up being much point in the mental kick because after I explained what cars were and how they operated, Lanadel wanted to know where Rosemary was. 

"I have no idea where Rosemary is," I admitted, desperately adding, "but have you seen her? She's tall with long blond hair and these gorgeous green eyes."

Lanadel gave me a sideways look. "Blond like May?"

"Who's May?" I returned the sideways look.

"You know, September, October, November, December, January, and so on. The months?" she tried.

"Yeah, I know about the months," I confirmed.

"May is the only other person I've ever heard of with blond hair," she explained.

I gave her a lost look. I had no idea who May was. As far as I knew, the months were not people.

"You've never seen the months, have you?" Lanadel sighed.

I shook my head. Helium balloon. I cleared my throat.

"Can you explain the whole Infinite Possibility thing to me?" I asked, sincerely hoping she wouldn't laugh at me or say no.

She nodded and took a deep breath.

"Unlike your world, Infinite Possibility is shaped like a triangle. Nobody has ever explored outside the triangle. I—" she smiled—"am going to be the first, though."

Adventurous, I could tell.

"Like I was saying, a triangle has three sides. The two top sides of Infinite Possibility are Always and Never. Always is on the left, and Never is on the right," she continues explaining. "They're the largest of the three divisions. Never existed first. As time went on and populations grew, people decided to relocate to Always. Things don't change often there, except the land. The people from there are splendid, I'm sure. They just fear change far too much. The people of Never are eager for something new, something outside of Always and their shape-shifting land. The Neverans can't do anything about it, though. Always supplies us with food. Collectively, Never doesn't want to risk conflict and having our food supply get cut off, so we insist on negotiation rather than fighting for what we deserve."

"Hang on," I interjected. "Did you say shape-shifting land?"

Lanadel nodded.

"How?" I said in disbelief.

She shrugged. "It just does."

"What about Sometimes?" I prompted.

She laughed bitterly. "Sometimes is where our demons go to die."

Neither of us spoke. Something Lanadel had mentioned about Always nagged at me.

Always fears change far too much.

I understood why it nagged at me so horribly. The mind never seems to forget what hurts the most.

————

Rosemary and I have our fingers interlaced and our arms intertwined. Snow blankets the area around us. We are at the downtown park where we first met. It's an unusually large place, with many sidewalks, many playgrounds for children, various benches, and plenty of grass. At least, most of the time. Not this time. I know her grey trench coat is draped over her shoulders to keep her warm. Her lips are lady bug red.

"Hey, Frankie?" Rosie says in a pure, curious, and innocent tone.

"Hey, Rosie Josie?" I reply, smiling.

"What are your thoughts on a child?"

I stopped smiling. Rosemary's expression falls just a mere few seconds after mine.

"I don't know. I mean, maybe. It wouldn't be a bad idea, I guess. What I mean is..." I rush my words out of my mouth in a panic.

"I'll take that as a no," she icily concludes.

"That's not what I meant!" I protest.

"What did you mean, then?" Mercy is not present in her tone. "Just be honest, Frank."

"I'm not sure we're ready," I confess.

"We're plenty ready as far as taking care of an actual child goes. I think we'd be damn good parents!" She's getting worked up and frustrated with me again.

"But what if—" I begin.

"No what ifs! Would it hurt you to be positive for once? I don't think it would."

"So much could go wrong!" I start to get angry, too. She doesn't understand.

"I love you, Frank, but hot damn! You're so pessimistic and fearful of change! Not all change is bad! You don't see that, and it's frustrating! We're running out of time! We get one life, and I'm not willing to give up on what I want!"

She's right. She's probably sick of the loser I happen to be, but she means the world to me. I cannot let her forget that. At the same time, I don't think I can let my own fears go.

"Can we talk about this at home?" I ask.

She lets out an angry puff of air. "Fine."

We ended up deciding becoming parents wouldn't be a horrible idea with minimal arguing. The universe decided against our decision. No such luck for a baby. Yet.

————

I blinked back a few tears. I glanced towards Lanadel to see if she noticed. Her eyes were fixated on me with concern.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," I croaked, coughing before reattempting. "Yeah."

She chose to accept this as truth, even though she probably knew it wasn't.

"What brings you here?" I wanted to divert the attention away from me.

Lanadel's face lit up with excitement. "Can I tell you?"

I nodded, and she told her story.

"I'm from a small village by the sea. It's called Ruarkesville," she began. "It's a weaving town. We spin wool, cotton, silk, and the like into threads and yarn. We ship it off to larger villages where they dye it and create clothes and blankets. Our supplies comes from Always. Things don't grow great here. It's either far too hot or far too cold.

"About eight months ago, we had a silk shipment come from always. I was assisting with unloading the docks when I ran into a very handsome sailor." A dreamy look floated across her face as she recalled the event.

"We spent a few nights together. After those few days, he left back to Always. After a few months, I found out I was going to be a mother!" Excitement filled Lanadel as she'd spoken that last sentence. She wanted to be a mother and have a small piece of her to keep her company so very badly.

Hadn't she mentioned wanting to adventure outside of Infinite Possibility? Maybe she had dreams to do both. Or maybe she had too many dreams she wished to fulfill. Lanadel have off the impression of being spirited, so I didn't doubt either possibility.

"A cotton shipment came this time," she continued, "and the same sailor from before was on board. I told him the news, and he gave me very specific instructions to make my way to Never Palace and request one of the High Powers take me to Always to have the child. He said the High Powers would know what I needed, and that she child and I would be provided for."

"Quick question," I inserted.

She stared at me with the golden bubble ocean eyes as she awaited my question.

"What are the High Powers?" I questioned.

"You said your world had them."

I slowly shook my head. When did I say that?

"I know you did, but maybe you guys call them something else. The High Powers are in this order: September, October, November, December, January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August, Queen Trinity Greywald of Never, and King Gabriel Spriggs of Always," Lanadel listed.

Trinity Greywald? I didn't believe it to be possible. A Trydellian legend, Trinity Greywald had served as a parent to nine younger siblings. Her mother passed under mysterious circumstances. There were unholy amounts of drugs and alcohol in her system, which led people to believe her death was a suicide. Weeks after the death of her mother, Trinity vanished without a trace. A rumor spread saying the Greywalds were hiding something. Nobody ever found out if the rumor aligned with the truth in anyway. I never believed the rumor. It's been years. I believed Trinity Greywald to be dead. Until Lanadel listed her as the Thirteenth High Power.

The High Powers within themselves confused me. I'd never entertained the thought of the months being people. Never say never, I guess.

"Oh," I murmured.

Lanadel suddenly stood. "Want to go for a walk? I've never been here before."

Something about her changed. I couldn't tell what. I did, however, sense her newly itching desire to see something knew.

"Sure." I stood.

We walked down the steps of 1110 Alec's Lane side by side. My eyes stayed on the ground ahead while Lanadel's examined our surroundings.

"These houses are all identical," she noted, "except for some of the lights."

"The lights are on because I went inside," I stated as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

"Why didn't you turn them back off?"

"I can't. They turned on by themselves after I went through the weird hallucination thing."

We turned the corner.

"Huh?" Lanadel asked.

I stopped walking. She paused as well and gave me a concerned look.

"Pick one," I instructed.

"Why?" she countered.

"Just pick one," I repeated.

"Athena's Path," she decided.

We resumed walking. A few seconds passed, and she gasped. I turned my head to look at her as I came to a stop. The look of concern returned to her face.

"Is your leg okay?" she fretted.

"What?" Sometimes I forgot other people walk normally and I don't. "Oh, yeah. It's been like this for awhile now."

"How long?" she questioned.

"Twenty eight years," I answered. "Don't worry, Lanadel."

"If you say so."

As we turned up the corner into Athena's Path, I heard Lanadel mutter to herself, "They have a white glow. Innocence."

I didn't see any kind of aura emitting from the houses. I looked at Lanadel for explanation. She didn't notice.

"Pick a house," I directed.

"2206," she decided, pointing to a house on the right side of the road.

The pale blue paint, the pitch, everything down to the loose threads on the plaid curtains was exactly identical to every other house in the area. Lanadel and I approached the house labeled 2206. I opened the door for her, greeting us with the same creak 1101 Alec's Lane did. The very second she stepped on, she vanished. I took a deep breath, bracing myself, before welcoming myself inside.


End file.
